Transparent Guilt
by Lady Patriot
Summary: Oneshot. An officer's thoughts about the course of events as portrayed in CotBP, and the consequences of them.


None of the characters that appeared in the two Pirates of the Caribbean movies are mine, but the property of Disney, et al. No profit is being made off this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

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He should have known, the moment he saw that damned pirate kneeling on the dock, that his life was about to take a very unwelcome turn for the worse. At the time, however, he was too concerned with the threat presented by said pirate to pay any heed to the faint warning tingle that danced through his brain. The marines thundered past him to encircle the pirate and the unfortunate Miss Swann, levelling their muskets on the sodden man bent over her. That had been the spark that set off a whirlwind of nightmarish events that made his head swim to think of. A late evening attack upon the town, the assessment of damage and plans for pursuit of the attacking ship to rescue the captured Miss Swann, an untimely and entirely unwelcome escape of the pirate Sparrow, and, he shuddered still when he thought of it, the bold theft of _Interceptor._ From there it had gotten progressively worse. Hunting for _Interceptor_ all over the Caribbean, only to catch sight of dark columns of smoke in the distance, rolling skyward from a small island. Imagine the surprise of all when it was discovered that the pirate Sparrow and Miss Swann herself were the sole inhabitants of the island! 

It had appeared their mission was complete, with Sparrow back in irons and Miss Swann safely recovered. Fate, of course, had other plans and she soon made those quite clear. A combination of Sparrow's incessant talking and the promise of marriage made by Miss Swann had helped set their new course, and thus they found themselves at the place called the Isla de la Muerta. _That_ had been an experience like none other. Waiting in vain for an enemy that had somehow slipped past them to attack _Dauntless_, a deception arranged no doubt by Sparrow. The fight to regain the ship had been truly terrible. His sleep had been uneasy for weeks afterward, haunted as he was by the ghoulish sight of walking, sword-wielding skeletons cutting down sailors and marines alike with impunity. Pistol shot and sword blade had failed to subdue those monsters, until some sort of miracle tumbled down from the heavens and turned the battle in their favour. The jubilant cheers of the sailors and marines as their opponents threw down their weapons rang through his memory when he thought back to that bloody night.

A false sense of peace came again when they returned to Port Royal, a little battered and shorthanded, having buried the dead at sea following that battle. It was a victorious homecoming however, and for a couple days the mood was positively buoyant. Sparrow was due to be hung, a marriage was at last going to be held, and happiness put a bounce in every man's step. It was nearly perfect and he should have known then, that it was about to come crashing down. But, like every other officer, he chose to lose himself in the moment, allowing himself to believe that all was going to end well. It was, he realised now, simply the calm before the storm, though at the time he had thought they had weathered the tempest's worst. The day of Sparrow's hanging had come and was greeted with great enthusiasm by officers and men alike. A good portion of the townspeople gathered, drawn as ever to the public spectacle of a hanging and it seemed that every officer of the fort was present, from the most junior midshipman and higher. Then, of course, the rash young Mister Turner appeared and the day had gone swiftly and directly to hell. The proud marines suffered a humiliating drubbing at the hands of Sparrow and Turner before recovering brilliantly and cornering the two against a stone pillar. Sheer force of numbers tended to win out in such situations, particularly when easily two dozen bayonet-tipped muskets were in the ready hands of the more numerous force. To his undying shock and dismay, however, not even that small victory lasted and Sparrow managed to effect yet another escape. Then, the purely unthinkable. Miss Swann, the one who promised to give her hand in marriage, withdrew her assent in favour of the apprentice Turner. She chose a lowly blacksmith's apprentice over a man of standing and good repute, with a fine career ahead of him. Such an unbelievable and inexcusable insult, and yet it had been accepted with gentlemanly grace. It had shown how noble a heart the Commodore had, which that self-serving minx had clearly thrown to the floor and ground beneath her shoe, though she was entirely blind to it.

In the following days, it appeared that nothing had gone so horribly and irrevocably wrong. For a time, he had allowed himself to think it was for the best, the way it all turned out. It was a short time, however, and it was not long at all before he realised that there could never be true peace until Sparrow was caught again and the savagely bruised honour of the Commodore soothed and restored. It was too late now, he mused, too bloody late by far. Too late to save the man he resepected and admired from the ruthless enquiry that was being initiated by the Admiralty. No, it was not too late for the Commodore. It was for himself. Only one officer could bear responsibility for the disastrous series of events that had culminated in the loss of a ship of the line and the escape of a notorious pirate. In true form, the Admiralty would strip the guilty party of rank and quite possibly drum him from service with all possible humiliation. It was, he decided, a fate that the Commodore did not deserve. His mind thus made up, no other course was possible, or even considered. His friends, what few of them he had anyway, had always said he was stubborn and it was never more apparent than the day he slipped his arms into his best frock coat and buckled on his sword in preparation to appear before the board of officers that had sailed to the Caribbean especially for the enquiry. He had taken care to give orders to the marine posted outside the Commodore's office to delay the man in every conceivable way, to prevent him from reaching the enquiry himself. The last thing he needed was to have the Commodore arrive and ruin it all.

First Lieutenant Gillette paused outside the room where the greying senior officers waited, taking a moment to steady his nerves. What he was about to do was tantamount to career and social suicide, but his transparent guilt would not allow him to stand idly by and watch the Commodore suffer any more than he already had. Enough was quite enough. Irritable voices could be hear on the other side of the door, the audible sign of the enquiry officers' growing annoyance at how long it was taking for him to arrive. It was time. Gillette glanced at the marine standing silently beside the door, as if to convey in a brief look what he couldn't put into words. Then, drawing in a deep breath, he rested his hand on the door handle and then there was no turning back.


End file.
